Be still and know

Signs of Spring advance.

Tonight, be still and know.
I stood outside leaning on the oak support of the porch
(which in England or in India would be called a verandah),
langourously looking
at the whispery-grey branches of a bare plum tree,
where in just a few months,
will be adorned white petals
and the hummmmmm of beeeeeees
and after that small red-baubled jewels
will entice one to make jam or tarts.
I stood
heart full
looking at different light in clouds of night
knowing that Spring is coming.

I stood and stared and tried to find peace in my heart.
Be still.

February is such a lovely time of year when one can stand,
feel privileged to witness the rise of temperature
to appreciate the suspense of Springtime
whilst watching a world of stars in space,
scudded by moonlight behind clouds;
to know the unseen gentle brush of breeze against a background
of a seemingly, apparently empty world
yet which is full,
repeating itself year on year,
since a time before we have ever known.

This place is special.

It bares the bones of life and France.
No roaring sound of machine or man.
Emptiness.
Sheer emptiness
full of flora and fauna.
Alone in France?
Never!
Always an animal or person or stone or tree
to reveal a truth
or a smell
to haunt the mind.
It has taken so much time for me to learn it,
to know it,
to believe in it
and
yet
it drives me wild at other times to be without people.

Be still and know.

It drives me wild to oftentimes hear the silence that is not silent.
Sound is always here.
The rustle or more of the wind,
The trickle or pelt of the rain.
A vehicle moving in the distance,
A tractor passing by,
The tick of a clock,
The cough of a sheep or poney.
My cough.
My cry.
The loiret close by.
Big Feet purring likes to know
I am here.

I stood outside and hung the washing on the line.

Be still and know.